


Staring Down the Sun

by pitypartyof1



Series: Inspired by Josh Pyke [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Chicago Blackhawks, F/M, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, sad!kaner, seriously I don't know why I keep doing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 06:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4253193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitypartyof1/pseuds/pitypartyof1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaner loves Sharpy.</p><p>Inspired by Josh Pyke's "Staring Down the Sun"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staring Down the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This short thing came about because I was experiencing some frustrations while working on my novel. I felt like I just couldn't get my creative juices flowing. A step back seemed to be what I needed. To inspire myself, I took several of my favorite artist's songs and decided to write fics inspired by them. This is the first in the series, inspired by the song "Staring Down the Sun," written by Josh Pyke.

**_“Not too sentimental, but I want you to know that I drove past your street tonight on my way back from a show. I was less than 100 footsteps away from you, I suppose. I could feel your old, sweet eyes watching headlights roll by; maybe you noticed one swept by a little too slow.”_ **

**_— “Staring Down the Sun”_ **

Patrick lets off the gas as he enters the quiet neighborhood. It’s late, but not overly so. There are still lights glowing in the big bay windows facing the street. His heart wants him to park until he’s looked his fill, his head knows better. No amount of gazing will settle his mind or sooth his pain. Even as he eases up to the house, it’s as if he can feel those eyes tracking his passage. When he cranes his head around to double check, the blinds are closed. Just like he knew they would be. He’s so close. In the dark, it feels like he could reach through the front window and snatch that life for himself.

Suddenly, the light buzz he felt after disbanding from the group at the bar is gone.  Any happiness the night had instilled in him evaporates, and aching emptiness is left in its wake. He’s probably got his arms around her right now. Or, maybe they’re just cuddling, her blond head in his lap. A wave of jealousy hits him, quickly followed by sadness and regret. He can’t be mad at her. There’s no way it’s her fault, and technically it’s not his either. Neither of them knew she’d be the sun that lit up his world until she just _was_. And besides, how was she to know it would ruin everything for Patrick?

They’re beautiful together. They have the cutest kids Patrick’s ever seen. But he would’ve been beautiful with Sharpy, too, Patrick thinks bitterly. Maybe if he’d been less of a coward, had gotten there first, it wouldn’t be an issue. Deep down though, Patrick knows that even then, even if he’d gotten to Sharpy first, Abby would have changed Sharpy’s life. In either situation, Pat knows he’d be left alone.

Knowing that doesn’t make it easier to live with. Pat will always love Sharpy, has since he was just a kid joining the big leagues and feeling incredibly out of his depth. ‘What ifs’ always pop into his head when he least expects them, they’re endless and siphon most of his hope and optimism away.

What if Sharpy hadn’t met Abby? Would Patrick have ever told him? Would Sharpy have been interested? What if they had a family? Would Sharpy have wanted to adopt with Patrick? Would they have had a home like this?

Somewhere down the street, a dog lets out a booming bark and Patrick jumps. Maybe he didn’t pull over to park, but he might as well have. Suddenly, he realizes he’s been stopped dead center of Sharpy’s street, break lights blaring in the dark. Not only is he going to cause an accident, but this is Chicago, and someone’s probably already called the cops on Patrick for being a creepy motherfucker. He shouldn’t be here anyway, he doesn’t belong here. In his panic, he puts his foot on the gas a little harder than he meant to, and screeches up the street. It’s time for him to go home, get to bed.

Sleep is the only thing that allows him to escape how pathetic he is. He thinks about Sharpy all day long, has to see him every day. He covets everything Abby has with him, and he relishes the moments he gets to share with him that she doesn’t. Abby’s never seen him up close on the ice seconds after he’s scored. She’s never seen him smile the first time he gets to touch the cup after winning a hard fought final series. It’s a small comfort. Tallying it up, he knows he comes up short. When he sleeps though, Patrick’s mind grants him a reprieve. It grants him the small mercy of a few hours where his mind is blissfully blank, and he doesn’t have to think about everything he wishes he could have that she does.

When he eventually makes it home, his mind and eyes are both swimming.  Sleep won’t come easy tonight, and that almost scares Patrick. It’s bad enough during the day when he has distractions, but at night, he doesn’t even have that. His mind can be a frightening place when it’s dark and he’s lonely. It’s no secret that Patrick’s got a self-destructive streak.

Crawling into bed sparks a shiver in his spine. The sheets are freezing against his skin, but he knows he’ll be warm enough soon. In contrast, he wishes the coolness of the pillow against his cheek could last forever. It sooths the heated skin where his eyes are starting to puff up. He nuzzles it slightly, wishes it was something firmer, stronger. Sometimes he fantasizes of falling asleep on Sharpy’s chest.

The thing is, Sharpy’s always been there for him, always. When Pat first joined the Hawks, he was stoked to learn from Patrick Sharp. If he’s honest, it was at least partially because they had the same name. But then, he was amazing, and he became everything to Patrick. It’s funny because Pat doesn’t even know when it happened, or how, just remembers looking at him one day and his brain coming to a halt. Sharpy smiled at him, and Patrick asked himself what the hell he was doing, but he couldn’t look away and that smile blinded him. Obviously, he knew better, but after that, he just wanted, all the time.  Sharpy was so out of his league, far too perfect and far too straight.

 Patrick did a lot of reckless things after that. Through all of it, though, all the times Pat fucked up when he was self-medicating and no one was watching him and he got careless and stupid… Even then, he was always there for Patrick. There’s no way he deserves Sharpy’s friendship and loyalty, but he’s so grateful for it.

And now he might lose it. In the privacy of his own home, he allows himself to feel guilty. He can picture the look he’d get if Sharpy knew he was putting this on himself, but he can’t help it. If Sharpy gets traded, Pat might just fall apart. He thinks about hauling out his laptop, or calling Jonny to fish for news and whine. He’s aware of how ridiculous he’s being, and just really doesn’t care. It seems he was correct. Sleep is eluding him tonight, and he punches his pillow angrily as he sits up.

Patrick subscribes to the theory that sometimes it’s good to throw yourself a pity party. Climbing out of bed, he makes a quick trip to the kitchen to grab beer and ice cream. Once he’s comfortably back in bed, he turns on the flat screen and settles in to cry through P.S. I Love You. Because he’s a glutton for punishment, he also pulls out his phone and googles “Patrick Sharp trade rumors.” There is no shortage of results. He stares at the ESPN link in front of him for several long minutes, can’t quite make his fingers work to open it.  He’s not sure he wants to know what the rest of the world is speculating and saying.

Eventually, he does gather the strength to click. It’s better to know, he tells himself.

By the time the movie’s done, the tub of ice cream is gone, there are several more empties, and Patrick’s eyes are red-rimmed and sore. This isn’t the first time he’s weathered this storm, though, and he’s getting by just telling himself, praying, that he’ll come out the other side with Sharpy on the bench next to him.


End file.
